


To Be Worthy of Merlin's Books and Bed

by peachchild



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachchild/pseuds/peachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a drunken game of Twister and an insult. It could only go uphill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Worthy of Merlin's Books and Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://merlin-holidays.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://merlin-holidays.livejournal.com/) **merlin_holidays**  fic exchange.

He has never been this drunk in his entire life, and he’s not sure how he made it this far into inebriation tonight. He assumes he owes it to Will, since his drink seems to be full every time he reaches for it, despite the fact that he’s sure he drank at _least_ half of the pint at _least_ three times. He finally catches him switching out his beer again and scolds him, cradling the glass possessively to his chest.

When his friends have made sure he’s properly tanked, he wobbles after them the three blocks to hotel, where the small group intends to continue the celebration. “We, my friends, are playing the incredibly sexy game of Twister.” Gwen announces, trotting to the kitchen counter, where the game box lies.

Merlin groans. “You chose the one game that’s impossible to play when you’re drunk, and of course, I am the only one as drunk as I am.”

“That’s all on purpose, Merlin. We’re having a night of reminiscence.” She pops the top off of the game box, grabbing out the mat. Someone has already moved aside the couch and coffee table in the middle of the suite, so she shakes it out and lays it on the empty expanse of the floor. “We’re reenacting.”

“We can’t reenact without Arthur.” His voice goes watery-soft, his lips pushing forth on the edge of a pout. “The whole point is Arthur.”

Gwaine claps him on the shoulder, smiling in a slightly drunken way. “Well, let’s think of it as the version of Twister that would have happened without him there, yeah?”

“I don’t want to think about that.” Merlin murmurs darkly. “So let’s not.”

Gwen laughs sympathetically, pats his cheek. “Then let’s just play because we’re drunk and it’s a party, yeah?” Merlin smiles gratefully, and she steps back to spin the wheel. “Alright, Merlin, right foot blue.”

***

The game itself is an old version that Lancelot’s sister bought at a vintage board games store in New York. The mat has the less vibrant color pallet popular in the 60s and 70s, looking almost as if one is viewing it through an old television monitor. They only played it once before tonight, five years ago.

It was during a party – less a party than a gangly group of somewhat intoxicated acquaintances acquired through a pub crawl – that Gwen threw for the purpose of cheering up a recently-dumped Merlin, when the game first made its appearance among them as a viable source of entertainment.

“We’ll make you forget all about that cheating twat!” Gwen declared uncharacteristically, cheeks flushed with wine, as she set out the game.

“What cheating twat?” Merlin slurred out, settling boneless onto the couch, his eyes closing.

Lance patted his cheek briskly. “No sleeping! This is a bucking-up party for _you_! You have to be awake for it.” He tugged him off the couch and over to the mat. “Alright, Gwen spun right foot blue. Come now, Merlin.”

He groaned, toeing off his sneakers, and placed his foot on the mat. Will wandered over to join the game, along with Morgana, who dragged with her a man seemingly intent on griping his way out of playing. “The entire purpose of this game is the humiliation of its players.”

“You’re to be given not one more drink unless you’ve played, Arthur Pendragon.” Morgana said sternly, a mother’s tone. “So if your intention is getting drunk, which I know it is, you might as well do it.”

“Oh, alright.” He scowled. He was dressed rather smartly for a flat party: 3-piece suit, patent leather shoes. His black socks had yellow toes, which pleased Merlin quite a bit, especially when their feet ended up side-by-side on the mat.

Half an hour, and Will stumbled off the mat, leaving Arthur and Merlin left to finish the game: Arthur with his left hand and right foot on blue, his right hand on yellow and left foot on red; Merlin with his left foot on yellow, right on blue, both hands on red. The position required their chests to be almost pressed together, the awkwardness palpable.

“So this party’s for you?” Arthur grunted, his arms trembling at the effort it took to keep himself in the position.

“That’s what Gwen told me, yeah.” Merlin had the advantage of being lanky, his long arms and legs aiding him in staying steady over him.

“You get dumped?”

“Cheated on, then left for the person she was cheating with but I guess so.”

“I’m sorry, mate.” He shifted his hand slightly to get more comfortable. “Not satisfying her then?”

Merlin made an offended noise in his throat, stared down at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“It’s a valid question.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault she cheated on me?”

“I’m suggesting that perhaps you leave something to be desired.”

He pressed his lips together, then shifted his knee a little to knock against the back of Arthur’s, which was enough to send Arthur’s leg kicking out. He landed on his back, a short _whoosh_ of air leaving his lips, and Merlin settled on his knees for a moment before pushing himself to his feet. “Sorry.”

Arthur sat up, looking positively affronted. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did I? Oh, I _am_ sorry.”

He flushed angrily. “You prat.”

“ _I’m_ the prat? You blamed me for my girlfriend cheating!”

He opened his mouth to retort but Leon and Lancelot pulled him to his feet, dragged him away from Merlin, who sat shaking on the mat, stunned by his audacity. Gwen knelt beside him, smiling kindly. “He was drunk.” She offered apologetically.

His shoulders sank in. “Can I go home now? I’ve had all the bucking-up I can handle.”

She nodded. “I’ll have Gwaine walk you.”

The next morning, a rather unwelcome knock on his door jolted through his hung-over brain, and upon answering it, he scowled. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m sorry for intruding; I asked Morgana for your address.” Arthur at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “I acted a right prick last night. I was drunk and had a rough day, and that’s absolutely no excuse for what I said, and I feel awful, and I’m sorry. That’s really what it comes down to. I’m sorry I said those things.”

Merlin stared at him. “You came… all the way here just to apologize to me?”

“Yes. I figured I owed you that.”

He scoffed. “Think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You thought I would still be thinking about that? Like I have nothing else to do?”

Arthur blinked at him, taken aback, and his eyebrows lowered. “Well, if that’s how you feel about it…”

Merlin laughed outright then, shaking his head when the miffed expression contorted Arthur’s face. “I’m only kidding. Thank you. I appreciate the apology.” The pause that followed lasted only a moment before he stepped aside. “Would you like coffee? You look as knackered as I feel.”

And that was how they started: friends at best, tolerable companions at worst.

***

Merlin droops on the floor, his back against the couch, head tipped onto the cushion, eyes closed. Will laughs, plopping on the couch beside his head. “Oh, no, you don’t. Just because you got clobbered at Twister does not mean the evening is over.” He touches the bottle in his hand to Merlin’s neck, causing him to gasp and squirm away. “Now that you’re awake, drink up.”

He grumbles, takes a swig from the lager. Gwen curls up on the floor beside him, sipping red wine. “You remember New Year’s Eve, three years back?”

“Course I do.” Merlin smiles, drooping his head down a little to rest against Gwaine’s knee where he sits beside Will. They’ve reached a serene portion of the evening; they’re all too drunk to do much, but they’re not quite pissed enough to fall asleep just yet. “Was a great night, yeah?”

“Brilliant.” Gwen agrees. “Declarations of love and all that.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He laughs, shaking his head.

***

There were pubs a-plenty for Merlin and Arthur that night, and they were very drunk by the time they reached Gwen’s flat, where she was hosting a party, a countdown to the new year. She rolled her eyes when she answered the door to them. “Of course you lot are drunk already.”

Arthur was properly offended. “How could you possibly know that?”

“We heard Merlin snickering from down the corridor! The only time he finds you funny in the least bit is when he’s drunk.”

Arthur made an affronted noise in his throat and Merlin nodded seriously at him. “It’s true.”

Gwen laughed and tugged them both in. “Alright, I’ll get you each a glass champagne. Ten minutes until midnight!”

Merlin accepted his flute from her, lifted it in thanks, turned to Arthur with a grin. “So where’s your date?”

Arthur looked good tonight, dressed smartly in a tailored blazer and well-fitting jeans. He had been wearing an ascot, but Merlin made fun of him until he scowled and yanked it off, throwing it into the back of his car. When they got out a few minutes later, Merlin had tugged him to a standstill at the door of the pub, tugged his burgundy scarf off and draped it around Arthur’s neck, knotting it at his throat. _Much better._

He was wearing it now, and it complemented the wind-whipped flush of his cheekbones beautifully. “I’m looking at him.”

Merlin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No girl tonight?”

“We made plans ages ago to ring in the new year with mates!”

“Well, you’ve never paid that any mind before!” Merlin laughed, tugging at the scarf more for the sake of touching him than anything else. “I’m glad you don’t. Wouldn’t want to sing by myself at midnight.”

Arthur didn’t answer, just allowed his friend to pull him off toward the people crowding around the telly for the countdown. Arthur kept his arm curled around Merlin’s neck, which he found both odd and not-odd, as Arthur _was_ drunk and strange behaviors were always to be expected from the man when he wasn’t sober.

Merlin’s favorite part of New Year’s Eve was always the chant, the way everyone grew louder as the numbers grew lower, as they neared the new year. The 00:00 flashed on the screen, and they let up a cheer of “Happy New Year!” accented with the clinking of champagne glasses as they toasted each other, and then the couples broke off for the kiss always allotted for midnight. Arthur grinned over at him, tossed his head toward the balcony door, and started off. Merlin grabbed the champagne bottle and followed, sliding the door closed behind him. The cool late-December air was still, the noise from inside muffled, and Merlin leaned with his back against the railing, exhaling softly through his mouth. “My favorite time of each year – when it ends.” He laughed. “A bit pathetic, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” Arthur rested his elbows against the rail, nudged Merlin’s arm playfully. He peered down into his glass, mostly empty, and smiled when his friend turned to fill it again with stolen champagne. “It’s like, the year ends and everything you’ve wanted to change in your life and haven’t suddenly seems newly possible.”

Merlin set the bottle down on the cement beneath them. “What have you wanted to change, Arthur?”

He smiled at him, the kind of smile that made the imperfection of his teeth noticeable in an altogether endearing way. “What do you want to change?”

“No, that’s not how it works. You see, I asked you first.”

“Alright, alright.” Arthur straightened up. “Perhaps I’ll change it now.”

“Change what?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, just looped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, smiled when he leaned easily into his side, sipping from his glass. When he lowered his hand, Arthur tipped him around toward him and pressed their mouths together.

Merlin made a little noise, closed his eyes, brought his hand up to rest his knuckles around his neck, the stem of the champagne flute resting against Arthur’s collarbone. It was just a little awkward, with Arthur’s head tipped up a bit and Merlin still fumbling to get the hang of being kissed by Arthur, but they were both mostly focused on the fact that they were Arthur and Merlin, and they were kissing, and it was New Year’s Eve and it had just begun snowing, though that could’ve been Merlin’s imagination.

He broke away first, touched his glass lightly to Arthur’s cheek, grinned. Arthur brushed his lips against his knuckles. “What did you want to change?”

“Well, I was thinking your desire to wear ascots.” Merlin joked, tugged at his scarf, still looped around Arthur’s neck. “But this was certainly better.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Not surprised at all?”

“Not so much. I figured if you fancied me half so much as I fancied you, it could happen.”

Arthur snorted a little. “Cocky.”

“Not at all.” Merlin shook his head seriously. “There was a reason I never said anything, you know. I’m not at all your type.”

“You’re exactly my type.”

“Liar.”

He shrugged, lips quirking up on one side in a little grin. “Perhaps.”

***

“ _Such_ declarations of love and you know it!” Gwen squeals happily, pouring out another round of wine.

Merlin scowls. “Would’ve been much better without you lot pressing your faces up against the window watching us.”

“It’s not our fault you chose to snog out on the balcony at a party!” Gwaine retorts. “Perhaps you’ll be more discreet next time, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Merlin sinks down a little, resting his neck on the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

Gwen rests her chin on her hand on the cushion beside him, smiling. “Think things’ll be different?”

“They’ll have to be, yeah? I mean, that’s the point.”

***

Their first real step toward commitment came in cardboard boxes and with two sets of keys. They had been together just over a year, and the past two months had been spent in house-searching. They had finally settled on a large flat in London, further than Merlin would have liked from their friends, but Arthur had a car, and Merlin had just gotten his driver’s license, so they would make due.

The flat was airy, which was what Merlin liked best about it. Aside from the bedroom and bathroom, which occupied a corner near the back, it was largely one room, the kitchen separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. Merlin had insisted on this because he liked to cook and hated having Arthur in the kitchen while he was doing so. Arthur had easily read into that, knowing he also didn’t like it when they were separated; this way, he could cook with Arthur at a distance but still visible, close by.

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t just move into mine.” Arthur grumbled, dropping a box of books on the floor. They’d set up two bookcases, side-by-side, and Merlin was in the slow process of lining his books up along the shelves. “We had plenty of space there, _and_ we wouldn’t have had to bring my things. Half the packing!”

“Yes, your things were there because it was _your_ flat. I didn’t want to move into your flat, because then I’d just be staying in yours, not ours.”

Arthur frowned, moved over behind him to slide his arm around his waist, pressed his lips to his neck. “It’s been ours since the first night you stayed there.”

He shook his head. “Not to me. And actually, not to you, since you always asked if I was coming over to ‘yours’ or we were staying at ‘mine’ or whatnot. No ‘ours’ to be had.” He leaned back against him, patting his hand and smiling over his shoulder. “And besides, I didn’t want you to ever have an opportunity for us to have a fight and for you to say, ‘Get out of my flat!’ like you used to do whenever we fought.”

“I wouldn’t have done that if you lived there.”

He snorted disbelievingly. “At any rate, it isn’t the case now. _We_ have this flat, and it’s wonderful, and I will help you unpack if you stop griping.”

Arthur hummed his consent, hooked his chin over Merlin’s shoulder. “I like that you read.”

“You tease me for it constantly.”

“It’s just to cover up that I like it. I like that your books are here. I think any place deemed worthy of your books is home for you.”

“My bed is deemed worthy of you, so I suppose it can stay as well.”

“Is that a hint?”

“It could be.”

Arthur took the books from Merlin’s hand, set them carefully back in the box and pulled him into the bedroom. They stripped out of their clothes, and Arthur always liked how Merlin fell onto his back on the bed, with this little grin like he was up to no good, which he probably was with how easily his legs fell apart. He shook his head. “Troublemaker.”

“Hardly!” Merlin laughed, fishing the lube from the nightstand. He loved that they put the bedroom together first, so they could sleep (and do other things) here tonight and continue unpacking in the morning. He handed it over, nudged his knuckles affectionately against Arthur’s cheek. “Love.”

He kissed the inside of Merlin’s knee, started the slow process of prepping him. “You.”

He liked the way Merlin arched and writhed, all elbows and knees, long fingers and dark mop of hair. Arthur kissed his hip, rubbing his fingers into him in a way that makes him mewl out a little. “Arthur, Arthur, please…”

“Patience, love.” He pulled out.

Merlin’s tense muscles eased, trembling with want. His hands fumbled over for the lube, and he pulled Arthur closer, pouring it into his hands and curling nimble fingers around his cock, stroking him slowly, his eyes sparking at the way Arthur’s hips rutted forward. “Want you.”

He smiled, that crooked endearing way he does, and leaned over to kiss him. “You have me.”

It wasn’t often that he was this sweet. He was a master at macho posturing, a fact that both charmed and infuriated Merlin. There were many more nights than he liked to admit when he retreated to his own apartment after fighting over Arthur’s pride, more mornings waking with voicemails full of apologies. He hoped that was going to change now; it had to, didn’t it? There was nowhere to run if things went badly.

Of course, that was the last thing he wanted to think about with Arthur pressing into him, so he curled his arms around his ribs and held him in close against him, nudges his nose against his neck and shuddering. Arthur slid a hand up his thigh, and Merlin could practically hear the frown in his voice. “Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not.”

“You are!” He laughed lightly, pulled back a little. “Come now. What’s wrong?”

Merlin looked up, eyes fierce, and Arthur looked taken-aback. “Don’t leave me, alright? We live together now. There’s no leaving.”

“I’m not – Leaving you isn’t an option, Merlin. It’s never been an option.” He thumbed the corner of Merlin’s mouth. “I thought it wasn’t for you either; your books are here…”

The statement was so simple and sweet and knowing, and Merlin draped an arm around his shoulders, dragged him down to kiss him, his leg hitching up around his hip.

***

“Merlin, you’ve gone red.”

His eyes drift over the Gwen’s concerned face. “I’m rather tired.”

She laughs softly, sympathetically. “It _is_ almost four in the morning. And tomorrow’s a big day. We should probably get you to bed.”

Merlin nods, allows his friends, who either drink less at parties or handle their liquor far better than he does, to help him to his feet. “Off we go.” Gwaine slides his arm around his shoulders, and there’s a hearty round of _Good night!_ s before Merlin is ushered from the room.

“Where are we going?” He slurs out a bit, the drinks settled low in his stomach and spreading fuzzy through his blood and into his brains.

“Your room. You have your key, right?”

“Yes, but I won’t need it. Arthur’ll open the door.”

Gwaine laughs. “You’re not staying with Arthur tonight, remember?”

Merlin halts abruptly, swaying like a street sign in heavy wind. “I’m not? Why not?”

“Because… it’s tradition.”

“But I want Arthur.”

“You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“No, no, no, now.” Merlin’s eyebrows slide down, and he turns a deliberate frown at Gwaine. “Now. I want to see him.”

“Merlin…”

“I want to see him.” His voice goes wobbly, watery, his eyes lining with tears. “Please. Just – I want to see him.”

Gwaine considers the options: tucking a crying Merlin into bed alone or taking him to Arthur. He figures Merlin will have a headache either way in the morning, but perhaps it will throb a little less if he hasn’t cried himself to sleep. So he steers him around in the other direction, leads him off down the hall, trying to ignore the way Merlin lets out little sobs of discontentment as they go. He stops him in front of room 405, raps his knuckles against the door.

There’s a thud, as if someone’s rolled off the bed more heavily than intended, and a moment later, Arthur opens the door, bleary-eyed and confused. “Uh…” Merlin’s in his arms immediately, nuzzling his face into his neck, and Arthur glares at Gwaine, his arms curling protectively around Merlin’s back. “How much did you give him to drink?”

Gwaine smiles sheepishly. “Probably too much, but don’t blame me. It was completely Will’s doing. I tried to stop it, I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur kisses Merlin’s temple. “Alright, I’ve got him. You go on back to Gwen’s and scold the whole lot of them and yourself for forgetting my instructions to _not_ get Merlin completely tanked, since he gets _sad_ when he’s drunk!”

“Sorry!” Gwaine calls into the room, tipping to the side a bit when Arthur slams the door.

He drags Merlin out of his rather ill-fitting jeans (“They’re comfortable!”) and tucks him into the bed in his boxer-shorts and the tee shirt he’s been wearing all day (one of Arthur’s, he notices) before crawling in himself and flicking the light off. Merlin’s easily on him, pressing sloppy wet kisses against his neck, and Arthur closes his eyes, runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and smiles when Merlin’s breaths even out, deepen, his lips against his skin.

***

Arthur wakes the next morning with a pounding headache, further exacerbated by the late-morning sunshine stabbing through the curtains that he clearly forgot to draw last night. He averts his eyes, rolls over, startles at the sight of Merlin, peering blue and clear up at him through a tangle of dark hair. He smiles, runs his fingers through it. “Hey, there.”

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out immediately, goes onto explain when he sees the perplexed look on Arthur’s face: “We were supposed to not sleep together last night, and then I had to go mad and… yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Mer _lin_.” He smiles fondly at him. “Don’t ever apologize for crawling into bed with me.” Merlin smiles, allows Arthur to drag him into his arms and kiss his neck. “You up for a morning shag?”

He groans, holding onto his shoulders. “No, I feel like rubbish. Though I wouldn’t even if I felt well, since that would ruin the anticipatory factor of this evening.”

“Big word.” Arthur murmurs. “But alright.” He pushes Merlin’s hair out of his eyes, touches their foreheads together. “You know what?”

His eyes soften. “We’re getting married today.”

“Yes.” He strokes his thumb against his temple. “Merlin Pendragon?”

He shakes his head, grinning mischievously. “Arthur Emrys.”

“We’ll decide later.”

“We’ll have to.”

They meet somewhere between the gentle teasing for a kiss, their mouths sliding together slowly, heads not yet leaving the pillow. Arthur breaks it slowly, his lips ghosting over Merlin’s, quirking up a little when Merlin seeks him out to press them back together. “Think our flat will always be worthy of your books?”

He smiles, sliding his arm around his neck, cradling his head gently in his hand. “Who knows? You’ll at least always be worthy of my bed.”


End file.
